


Delight

by VampireNaomi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:49:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireNaomi/pseuds/VampireNaomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany watches France make dessert and feels unnerved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delight

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for dontgochanging in the Hetalia Christmas challenge.

Normally, the pleasant humming would have done wonders to soothe Germany's nerves. He loved that voice and the comfort it brought to him at times of distress, but this time it was its owner who was causing the distress in the first place.

“These will be the best cream puffs you've ever eaten in your life. Don't worry.”

That was easier said than done. Germany was used to worrying about many things. He was worried that his country would suddenly be thrown into recession and that history would repeat itself. He was worried about his brother who had built a wall to separate the two sides of Berlin and wasn't taking his calls. He was worried that his country and people were forever tainted by what some of them had done. And on a smaller scale, he was worried that he'd be late to meetings, that he'd forget an important document and that someone was going to make a mess of his kitchen.

That last fear had turned into reality today. He had let someone else into his kitchen. Even worse, he had let that someone else cook dinner for him – and as if that hadn't been enough, his guest was currently in the process of chopping chocolate into tiny pieces and spreading crumbs everywhere.

“Calm down, mon chéri. I'll clean up after myself.”

Germany quickly turned his eyes back to his hands that were on the table.

“It's not that,” he said.

France chuckled. “Oh, I see. Then you were staring because you can't take your eyes off me?”

“Of course not.”

Well, yes. Or at least that was part of the reason. Germany was feeling unnerved; it was as if his insides were in the wrong place and were trying to settle down without much success. He couldn't decide if he would have rather stood up or remained sitting. He didn't know what to say.

The problem wasn't just that France was making a mess in his kitchen. It was that France was there in the first place. It was the first time he let anyone other than Italy into such a private part of his home after the war.

It was stupid to be nervous, he knew. He'd been to France's kitchen. He'd been to his bathroom, had watched the stars on his balcony and spent the night in his bedroom, in his bed, even. It shouldn't have been an issue to let France into his home in return, and yet it was.

France didn't look at him as he began to boil sugar in a saucepan. “You're really nervous. I can tell. I'd say this is even worse than the first time you stayed in Paris for the night.” 

The first time that I stayed with an invitation, Germany thought automatically, all too aware of the feeling of guilt that had been gnawing at him for years and that would probably never fade. He knew France hadn't meant his words like that, but it had turned into a habit to never let himself forget about what he had done.

“I'm not nervous,” he said.

“Yes, you are. How am I supposed to take this? Are you having second thoughts about inviting me?”

“No!” Germany blurted out.

“Then what is it?”

How could he explain it? Germany tried to organize his feelings into a mental flowchart, but since he didn't understand the situation himself, he couldn't get past the first point. All he knew was that he was uncomfortable having France in his kitchen.

France stirred the sugar and turned to look at him. He was smiling, but Germany had spent so much time looking at his smiles lately that he could instantly recognise the doubts behind it. He felt like kicking himself. The last thing he wanted was to make France upset.

“Don't even try telling me that it's the flour on the counter or the pile of dishes. You know I take good care of my own kitchen and clean up any mess I leave,” France said.

“I already said it's not that.”

The sugar had melted, so France moved the saucepan away from the stove and added the chocolate into it. Germany watched how he stirred the mixture with the wooden spoon until he deemed it ready.

“Should I leave?” France asked.

“No, of course not. I'm just... Well, you're right. I am nervous.”

“About what? I thought we were past that already. I've told you how I feel, and while I'm still not sure how it ever happened, you've told me how you feel as well. And we've spent so many nights in Paris that I certainly hope you haven't suddenly decided to grow shy about love!”

No, that wasn't it, though Germany had to admit that his face still had the tendency to grow uncomfortably hot whenever France's fingers brushed against his hips when he walked by or when he leaned closer to whisper something into his ear. Sometimes it was enough that France smiled at him from the other side of the conference table.

But that was the kind of discomfort he liked. Germany was slowly learning to be happy again without feeling guilty about it – how could someone who had done what he had ever deserve to be happy? It was mostly thanks to Italy and France, especially the latter. Right after the war, he would have never believed that someone could ever love him, especially someone who had been invaded by him. But France did.

“It just feels so strange. Seeing you in my kitchen, I mean. It...” Germany drifted off as he began to identify the source of his discomfort.

He cleared his throat. “I haven't let many people into my house in a long time. After the... for several years, it has been the place where I withdraw when I need to be away for a while. Seeing you here makes everything... makes us feel so final. Like what we have is real.”

“It wasn't real for you until now?” France asked and lifted one curious brow at him.

It suddenly hit Germany how wrong his words sounded and just how many horrible ways there were for France to understand them. He jumped to his feet, almost knocking over the chair.

“No! I mean, yes! Of course it was real. It was wonderful, it was –”

“I know,” France said, and this time his smile was genuine and sweet. “You may be pitifully stoic most of the time, but when you do show emotion, I can read you like an open book.”

He took a step closer and placed the tip of his finger on Germany's lips. “And let's just say that I have had ample opportunities to read you lately. I haven't just discovered what your favourite positions are but how to see in your eyes what you're thinking.”

Germany chose to stay quiet, not sure where this was leading. He and France had worked hard to rebuild relations between their countries after the war, and for a while now there had existed a partnership not just between the two of them but their bosses as well. It was more than he had ever hoped, and yet he had got something even better.

To say that he loved France would have perhaps been a little over the top, at least this early. Love was such a strong word. Germany knew he was young compared to the others in Europe and that France had far more experience in these matters. He didn't want to ask Prussia for advice in such a personal field, but he wished he had been there. His presence would have been enough.

“I'm your first, aren't I?” France asked.

“No, I already told you –”

“I didn't mean like that. Have you ever been in a relationship with anyone before?”

He hadn't. He had made his first experiences in bed relatively early, but he had never before stayed with anyone. It was new to him to want the same person for this long. Prussia had told him never to fall in love with a human, and no nation had ever approached him before. He didn't know if it was because he was so much younger or because nobody had wanted to go through Prussia to get to him.

“No,” he admitted, and somehow it made him feel like a failure.

France chuckled and leaned closer to press his forehead against his. Germany stiffened at such closeness, but he didn't try to move away. These things France did to him, the casual touching and affection, were so different from what he was used to. It unnerved him, but at the same time it filled him with a bubbling feeling that he didn't know how to express right.

“That's alright,” France said. “You're doing fine. And you have all the time in the world to learn the intricacies. I'll teach you.”

Germany hoped the confidence would come with enough time. He liked what he had with France, and he didn't want it to end because of his mistakes. If he could one day make France as happy as he was, that was all he needed.

“I hope that involves more than being creative in the bedroom,” he said and pushed France away.

“You wound me. Of course it involves more. It has involved more since day one.”

Germany decided that he'd rather not reply to that. Telling France how he felt had been one of the most difficult obstacles he had overcome in years, but he still didn't feel comfortable voicing it again. 

And France, who thankfully knew him well enough by now, wasn't bothered by his silence but returned his attention to the chocolate sauce. With a few swift movements, he filled the puffs he had baked earlier with whipped cream and poured chocolate on top of them.

“Here. Look at this exquisite masterpiece I have created just for you,” he said and placed one of the cream puffs before Germany's seat at the table.

Germany was very proud of the delicacies of his country, especially his cakes, but he had to admit that France knew what he was doing in the kitchen. He was about to take a careful bite of the pastry so that he wouldn't get everything messy with cream, but then he noticed that France had sat down but wasn't about to eat.

“What is it? You made such a show of making dessert today. Aren't you having any?” Germany asked.

France leaned his chin on his palm and smiled at him. “Don't be silly. Of course I'm having some today.”

“By which you mean...?”

“Isn't that obvious? I'm going to have you for dessert.”

France reached out to catch some chocolate onto his finger and brought it to his mouth. He gave Germany a mischievous wink, and Germany suddenly had an idea of what was going to happen to the leftover cream that night.


End file.
